Unfortunate
by DreamerAngel17
Summary: He doesn't want to be an option, he wants to be the solution.
1. You Didn't Believe in Me

Part One of a three-shot that's been in my head. I blame R&B.

Disclaimer-I don't own Hetalia but if I did…

* * *

The rain won't stop falling.

He finds himself wandering aimlessly in the downpour.

His heart feels constricted and twisted. It feels as if it's being pulled in all directions by starved wild horses on the plains who've spotted fresh food nearby. He doesn't know what to think or how to act because these feelings, these _emotions_, are so foreign to his bemused mind. The complication of the matter bounds him and his chest clenches tighter.

He wants to yell, scream, shout, cry, hit something, throw something, anything; anything that was possible to make the pain go away. He'd rip his heart right out of his chest if it would make the tears dry up and make the pain stop. It's overwhelming, this feeling of… of….what can he call it? Heartbreak? Hurt? Anger? Confusion? It's hard to sort through his murky thoughts in this unforgiving storm.

The rain won't stop falling.

He feels deceived, he feels lost.

He gave him the best love he ever had, gave him the purest and sweetest affection he could give anyone. His love had been warm and inviting, his heart had been so open and receiving, _he gave him the best love he ever had and he just left_. How could he just leave like that? He thought that they were okay, that they wouldn't end up like so many of their friends who loved and lost. He thought that the passion was real, a mutual feeling on both parties. He loved him so strongly, so intoxicated by his own infatuation that he couldn't see what was really happening. He blinded himself, concealed his heart so he could live a distorted reality.

He finally had what he always wanted, so he thought. His single life had came to a positive and happy conclusion; he kept his head high and smiled bright. He was a hero and heroes weren't supposed to hurt. He was supposed to protect others and keep them content, even at the cost of his own happiness. He was a hero and heroes never got lonely, so he wasn't allowed to give in to his burden of loneliness; lively smiles and happy thoughts kept the bleak emotions at bay.

The rain won't stop falling.

The tears won't either.

His chest constricts and his heart plummets; that was the best thing he ever had. He keeps his mind from replaying that day, the moment when his world came crashing down. When the blinders fell off and reality came into view, that is a memory he'd rather forget. His poor heart, so twisted and construed, doesn't know how to feel. His mind is clouded with thoughts that aren't real anymore. He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around that slender body, to rest his head in the familiar crook of the neck. He wants to just will away their troubles and tribulations, but it was made that clear that they were no longer an 'item.'

What could he have done to change the outcome? What had made them fall apart from the seams to begin with? Were their hearts not attached from the start of the relationship?

Was he the one who told him to get out of his life? Was it a lost cause from the beginning? Were their paths so star-crossed that destiny could only lead them down a path of heartache and devastation?

All these questions, these confusing questions whose answers hang silently in the air between them, he'll never get a response to them. He'll never know the reason as to why they aren't together anymore. He'll never know why he was deceived in the first place and maybe…he wants to keep it that way. He knows that he treated him right but he'll never truly know. They say that pain doesn't last forever so he'll try not to dwell on the past.

He dries his eyes and looks up towards the heavens.

The rain's stopped falling.

* * *

AN: It's sad but it'll get better, I promise :)


	2. Yesterday

Part Two of a three-shot. I still blame R&B. I CAN FINALLY UPDATE SOMETHING! The site's not glitching for me anymore :3

Disclaimer-I don't Hetalia, but if I did...

* * *

The sound of glass breaking stops him.

He doesn't dare look back.

He can't look back because he knows what would be behind him if he does. He doesn't look back because he knows _who _would be behind him if he looks back; who _used_ to be behind him.

Yesterday he fell in love.

He has to leave, he doesn't need to go but he wants to, or maybe he doesn't want to go but he needs to. He doesn't know the right answer to the nagging questions fresh in his mind.

He couldn't keep living that false reality, that dream that kept their rose-colored glasses on and their former happiness alive and breathing. The dream that felt so warm and real and true that it made him want to sleep forever and never wake up. Then why did he want to wake up?

Why did he leave?

"_**It's… over? W-why? Am I doing something…wrong? Am I not good enough?"**_

'_More like I'm not good enough for you.'_

These questions won't leave him alone, they haunt him still even after he called it quits. When his mind's at rest and idle, those thoughts echo hollowly, and it takes all his willpower for him to keep his composure. That day is etched into his head, vivid as a picture; the day that he'll never forget. The day that his eyes twinkled at the sight of him, his chest tingled at the sound of his name rolling off that tongue, when his lips smiled genuinely and his heart beat peacefully.

He had felt _good _for once in his miserable life.

Now that he sits and reflects on that day, those thoughts creep slowly towards the front of his mind. Those blue eyes, those endlessly deep sapphire eyes won't leave him alone; those eyes are what hurt him the most. When the words tumbled from his mouth, those eyes showed him everything going through his head. They flashed with confusion, reflected rejection, asked questions and glistened with unshed tears.

Yesterday he fell in love; today he can't figure out his emotions.

He doesn't know how to react towards this unfamiliar phase and he doesn't know who he can confide these strange feelings to. Soon, the questions are asked and the story is told over and over, details fresh as the day they occurred and the audience of souls seem to be in consensus:

"_He likes you."_

He wants to believe this, but the more he thinks about it, the more his heart sinks.

He nods his head, hearing the words but not really listening to them. He wants to believe them, wants to wrap his arms around them and clutch them close to his chest but his star-crossed heart denies his wishes. Of course he could like him, same as how a child _likes_ vegetables, how all the other nations _like _England's food, but he knows he doesn't _like _him the way he likes him. He doesn't like him the way he _wants_ him to like him.

Yesterday he fell in love; today he can't let go of him.

He ended it for a reason; a good reason. He ended it because….he didn't want to get hurt. They worked, they truly worked as a couple; their personalities complemented each other, their passion burned bright and sparked the intense flame that had drawn them to one another until they melded and realized that they were meant for each other. At the time it seemed like a good idea, cutting it short before they went in too deep and one of them got their feelings hurt. It was a good idea at the time, but he can't help the swelling ache in his heart at the thought of him.

It was a good idea…at the time.

He's not used to feeling so vulnerable and open.

He knew that it would be better if they just stayed friends and he should be happy, right? He predicted that it wouldn't happen and Karma came and confirmed his suspicions. If he's supposed to be basking in the greatness of singularity, why are there tears blurring his hazel gaze and corrupting his vision? Why are his emotions building up in his throat and keeping him silent?

The sound of glass breaking crushes his heart.

Yesterday he fell in love; today feels like his funeral.

* * *

AN: I can't wait until this is over...


	3. Broken When I'm Lonesome

Part Three of a three-shot that's been stuck in my head. I found this generator website last week and it was about Hetalia Yaoi and I generated South Italy x America and saved it as my phone's wallpaper. Is that weird?

Warning: I don't hate America x Russia ( love it actually) it's just, well…the PLOT. Oh and Romano's mouth.

Disclaimer-Hetalia doesn't belong to me.

4/8/2011- Happy birthday to me~ :)

* * *

America wakes with a start.

He feels his heart racing, feels the sweat beading down his face, feels his chest pumping up and down as his breathing quickens and his lungs expand.

Holy shit, that was crazy.

What the hell was that dream? It felt so real…too real. Could he even call that a dream? Weren't dreams supposed to be positive and pleasant? Complacent? Happy?

America adjusts his position on the couch. His eyes wildly scan the dark room and once they adjust, he runs a tired hand through wheat-blonde locks. He rubs his sore eyes and squints to his right, it's 4:48 a.m. and he's got a meeting with his boss at 8. He shouldn't be up right now, he should be sleeping the night away but he can't. His mind's restless, finding ways to replay the day's events and channeling them through his dreams.

That dream…that nightmare, that unclear reality is what woke him up and now he can't fall back asleep. After a few tries of changing and rearranging positions, America sighs tiredly and rises off the couch; it'll do him no good at the meeting tomorrow if he's sore from sleeping on his couch. His bare feet and soles hit the cool hardwood and he shivers, the heat hasn't kicked on yet.

His sleepy blue eyes adjust to the quiet darkness of his den and begins to make his way out of the room. The house is cold and dark and he can barely see without Texas but his body knows the way. That nightmare is fresh in his mind, the feelings still lingering at the forefront and he shakes his head to will them away. All they did was argue, they only had one fight, yet he's dreaming about them breaking up.

America stops in the middle of his journey and stares into the darkness. Why won't these thoughts go away?

America composes himself and continues on, letting his mind reflect on the day's earlier events.

Today the nations finished their second to last meeting in a week long series of conferences concerning renewable energy. America boss had thought it be good for him to become friends with Russia, an idea that America was terribly against. Yet and still, America found himself sitting next to Russia and the superpower was not happy, especially since the Russian thought it would be smart to convince America to become one with him using _sensual charms, da._

America was not amused. He fought off Russia all throughout the meeting. From an outsider's point of view it looked like the two nations were getting a little touchy with one another; that's probably how Romano saw it. America noticed the pointed icy glares coming from Romano from down the table and he tried his best not to let it get to him.

After the meeting though when the room was clear, South Italy was at his throat, demanding to know, _"What the fuck was that about, you ignorant bastard?" _in furious whispers to keep nosy nations from hearing their dispute. America had tried to calm his angry boyfriend down by explaining to him that the altercation between Russia and him was nothing and that there was nothing to be jealous about but South Italy would have none of that.

What started as an intimate squabble between lovers had quickly escalated to a shouting match between irate countries. America doesn't know who said what to each other but he remembers Canada bursting in and angrily stomping out of the meeting room. He actually broke the meeting room's door off its hinges when he stormed out and he _may _have injured a few nosy nations that were listening in but that was their own damn fault.

Now that he thinks about it, they've never fought that bad. Sure they've argued, what couple doesn't, but this one was intense. They were damn near _screaming_ at each other and America didn't really know how to process that. It was so bad that their brothers, quiet Canada and sweet Italy, had to come in and separate them. It wouldn't have gotten physical, but it's just the fact that they had to be broken up by other people.

America reaches his staircase and wipes at his eyes, tears were starting to blur his hazy vision. He really had nothing but a strained friendship with Russia, South Italy had no reason to be jealous.

_Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light~_

What the hell? Who's ringing his doorbell at- America squints his eyes at the clock on the mantel in the living room- 4:52 a.m.? _'Must be thieves-' _he suspects, _'but they picked the wrong house.'_

America changes directions and heads towards his gun cabinet in the basement.

* * *

South Italy had a dream; not a happy-happy-joy-joy dream, more like a nightmare.

It was the kind of nightmare that he awoke from panting heavily, with fresh sweat clamming his Italian skin, accelerated his heart rate and instills fear and paranoia. South Italy had dreamt about him breaking up with America and it was terrifying, no doubt fueled by the aftermath of their meeting. That fight with America was…extreme, much worse than any other fight they've ever had.

Sure Romano had started it but he had every right to be upset. Russia was all over America, touching him with those big and heavy hands, groping and caressing, running fat fingers through that baby soft wheat blonde hair. No! Russia had no right to touch America like, like…._that_, no matter what the fuck their bosses said.

Romano is _not _jealous of Russia.

Romano has no reason to be jealous of Russia. _He's_ the one that's got America, not that sunflower bastard and _he's _the one America's attached to , _not _that vodka guzzling ass hole, so he's got nothing to worry about. Considering that fight however, he might have something to worry about. They were at each other's throats, something they'd never done before. He's hollered at America for pretty much a lifetime but America's never yelled at him before, even before they got together.

So yeah, Romano had gotten a little carried away-no, he didn't get carried away! South Italy knows what he saw and he knows what Russia did. Romano pushes himself off the bed and stifles a yawn. Now that he thinks about it, Russia was a bit too touchy-feely for Romano's liking and the nation had been hanging around America a lot lately.

Wait a minute.

Does Russia have ulterior motives for wanting to be 'friends' with America? Does Russia have romantic feelings for America and was he acting on them at the meeting? Could that have been a plot to break them up? Does Russia want America as a lover? He couldn't because those bastards hate each other, r-right?

_Right?_

Romano's breath catches and his throat constricts as he stands in the middle of his hotel room. These questions seem to fit the situation all too well and he balls his fists out of frustration. Does this mean that America wants to…leave him? For Russia?

_America leaving him for Russia. _

It probably is true, America is the world's leading superpower so what doe he want with half of a weak nation? Russia's strong so they'd suit each other anyway. Former enemies-turned-lovers, their bosses would be ecstatic about it and Romano himself would just be left out in the cold. Once again Romano would be lonely and no one would care, especially not America because he'd already have what he's been looking for in a lover with Russia. He can't accept that.

Going off his realization, Romano moves to put some clothes on and proceeds to exit his hotel. This realization is what made him jump into his car and speed over to America's house at 4:50 in the morning, with watery eyes, cursing the heavens and himself for being such an _idiota _and falling for the self-proclaimed hero with the bright eyes and big heart.

It's the foreboding feelings of heartache and loneliness that's got him standing outside America's house. He won't put himself through anymore pain. He'll end it now so America can go and be fucking happy and get his happy fucking ending because it's what he fucking deserves and that's all the bastard's ever fucking wanted. South Italy takes a shaky breath and rings the doorbell.

His dream's about to become a reality.

* * *

America crouches low behind his cover as he listens to his doorbell again. These thieves think they're pretty slick, well they've just met their match. America aims his rifle towards the upper part of the door and peers through the scope; if only they knew whose house they were breaking into.

A loud 'BANG' cracks the silence as the person on the other side of the door tries to get in. America tightens his grip on his gun. The door takes another hard hit before it falls from the force. America goes into sniper mode and fires warning shots at his intruder. After the third shot the intruder screams, spouting English and Italian curses.

America lowers his gun at the sound of the voice. "Romano?"

"C-chigi! Yeah it's me _bastardo_! Now put the gun down, wherever you are!"

America obliges the command and lays his gun down on its side, flicking the safety on. He moves from behind his cover at the top of his stairs and catches a real sight. Romano is cowering in the middle of his doorway, using the broken front door as a shield. At the sight of an unarmed America, the Italian drops the door and jumps back into tsundere mode.

"Why the fuck were you shooting at me?"

America gives him a skeptical look. "Why are you banging on my front door at damn near 5 in the morning?"

Romano's ire towards the shooting dies down as he remembers the reason for why he was here in the first place. His demeanor grows serious and he spares a look at America standing at the top of the stairs; the blonde is standing in a white tank top and basketball shorts with strong arms folded over his chest, staring hard down at Romano with squinting eyes because Texas is absent from his face. The two nations lock eyes and the atmosphere tenses between them. After a few minutes, America's the one to break the stare-down and he turns his head away from the half-nation below him.

"There's nothing between Ivan and I."

Romano scoffs and turns away from America, folding his own arms. "Couldn't have fooled me."

America huffs and stomps his foot because Romano's stubbornness is seriously grating on his nerves. "I'm serious. All our bosses want us to do is get on friendly terms with one another, that's it. I've told you this a hundred times."

"It didn't look friendly from where I was sitting. Why was he touching you if you two are supposed to be so _friendly_?" There was so much venom and hatred in the word 'friendly' that America unconsciously took a step backwards.

"I-I don't know ask Ivan! It's not like I wanted him to touch me!"

Romano whirls around quickly towards America. "I know what the fuck I saw Alfred! My eyes could perfectly see what the hell was going on during that damn meeting!"

America steps forward, his arms uncrossing. "Yeah you saw me fighting off Russia's perverted hands! I don't like Ivan like that and I never will, why don't you see that?"

Romano drops his gaze and lets his mind sort out the question. He's trying to see it the way Alfred's describing it but it's not processing properly. The heavens know that he wants to see it the way Alfred's describing it, that America really wants _him_ and not _Russia _but the longer he dwells on the thought, the more his heart swells with hurt.

America starts down the stairs, first hopping down two at a time. Honestly, he's scared to hear Romano's response but the Italian needs know that he doesn't want Russia, no matter what the world thinks and the rumors say. His ears pick up South Italy's Italian accent mumbling something but he can't understand the words.

"What did you say?"

"I SAID I'M A FUCKING IDIOT, OKAY? You're a fucking _superpower_ and I'm half of a wimpy nation, what the hell could we have in common? You can have any lover you want and I…I knew this was too good to be true! I can't take this anymore. It's over America!"

America opens his mouth to say something but Romano turns away from him and starts to head towards the door. Pulling himself out of his stupor, America jumps the rest of the stairwell and bounds out of the door after Romano, reaching out for the Italian's arms. Romano feels himself being yanked backwards by America and he fights the younger nation's grip.

"Damn it, let go of me America! I've made my decision!"

"I'm not letting you go Romano! I can't let you walk away from me again! Please rethink your decision, please!"

At the sound of America's pleading tone, South Italy's emotions constrict in his throat. Those sweet blue eyes were begging him to just stop and listen, even if you don't want to hear what I've got to say. South Italy wants to say something but he fears his words will just come out as strangled sobs. So he turns away from those big and pleading blue eyes and fights away the tears; until America's words ring in his ears.

"What do you mean, 'again'?"

Without warning, America pulls Romano into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around the Italian nation's torso and burying his head into the crook of Romano's neck. America draws in a shaky breath, his emotions were starting to take over, and explains his story.

"I-I had this dream, where you broke up with me and left me alone. Oh god, it hurt so bad because you weren't there and I didn't know what was wrong. I-I didn't know how to feel, I was sad, pissed, confused and _lonely, _you left because of something that was wrong with _me_. My heart felt so heavy and empty Romano, I swear it did and I couldn't stop crying. It was raining and I was crying and the pain in my chest got deeper and deeper and I couldn't find you…and it was just…all I wanted…"

Romano blinks as America loses his composure. The younger nation sobs into his shoulder, tightening his hold on the older nation. All South Italy can do is stare blankly out in front of him as America pours his heart and soul out to him, in his front yard at 5 in the morning. Romano tries to digest what America's told him so far and all the nation can do is blink.

'_He had the same dream as I did.'_

Romano wants to say something, anything but he just can't seem to find the words. All this time he was only focused on his feelings of hopelessness because he was so used to being thrown to the side for something better. All this time he was only concerned about how he was hurting and never considered that _maybe_ America might be hurt if they broke up. He didn't imagine America being heartbroken over losing a lover.

Maybe he thought wrong.

America pulls himself from South Italy's shoulder and presses his forehead against the shorter nation's. His red-rimmed blue eyes stare straight into Romano's hazel eyes and all the older nation can do is blink at him and watch the tears fall.

America closes his eyes and drops his arms to Romano's waist. "Lovino, I promise you that I'm not messing around with Russia, or anyone else; it's up to you if you want to believe me or not. That dream scared the shit out of me but it also made me appreciate you so much more, like that old saying' You never know what you've got until it's gone'. I never realized how much you meant to me until I dreamt that you just up and left me. Now I know that I can't live without you in my life so please just hear me out. I understand if you still want to leave."

Romano stares at the tears trickling down from America's normally happy eyes and he feels even worse knowing that _he_ was the one that caused them to fall. They stand there in silence for what feels like the longest time, both caught up in their own thoughts. Romano's mind comprehends America's words and his own eyes tear up. Without a second thought, he reaches up and wipes away a tear and America's eyes fly open.

"I thought I was saving myself from getting my heart crushed if I just ended our relationship. I thought that you didn't want anything to do with me and just went with me out of pity. I thought that you didn't care but I guess I proved my own self wrong. Both of our dumbasses dreamt about our breakup over one bitch ass fight. I only thought of myself and counted you out because I thought you'd be better off without me."

America tightens his grip once more and meets Romano's gaze head on. "Better? I'd be worse off without you Romano. That dream made me realize a whole lot of things and the most important thing being in love with you."

Romano's breath catches in his throat. "W-what d-did you just say?"

"I love you Italy Romano. I love _you _and nobody but you. It took a fight and a dream but I finally figured it out."

Romano doesn't know what to say. The tears have stopped falling from their eyes but he doesn't know what to say. America in love…with him? America loves _him_? _America _loves him? It feels too real to be true but America had promised him that he wanted nothing to do with Russia or anyone else. The dull ache in his chest seems to vanish at the sound of America's confession of love and he feels his heart soar at his own realization.

He's in love with the United States of America.

As the words tumble out of his mouth, his face flushes a dark crimson color. "I….I love you too, you damn bastard."

Those blue eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yes, dammit."

America's hug grows tighter as he squeezes Romano to his chest. The older Italian nation struggles in protest and tries to escape America's death bear hug but settles down once the younger nation presses their lips together. America kisses South Italy with everything he's got, he puts all his love, heart and soul into this one kiss and Romano responds with just as much passion. A few minutes pass and they break away for a moment, breathing in rich oxygen to air-deprived lungs.

America smiles warmly at Romano. "So, does this mean I get another chance?"

Romano flicks him in the forehead but offers a small smile anyway. "No, this means we start over." And he pulls him for another heartfelt kiss.

Russia might have Romano beat in size and strength, but _Romano's _the one America's head-over-heels in love with and no one can change that.

Sadly America missed the meeting he was supposed to have at the White House with his boss and the commander-in-chief was not happy.


End file.
